


if I am good to you, won't you be good to me (that's how easy this should be)

by suzukiblu



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftercare, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Praise Kink, References to Past Dubious Consent, Safe Sane and Consensual, Service Top, scene negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 17:55:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19706500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzukiblu/pseuds/suzukiblu
Summary: “There’s just something I’ve been thinking about for a few centuries,” Aziraphale says. “It’s not veryproper, of course, but . . .”Crowley grins, and leans towards him. Aziraphale having an “improper” idea sounds like the best time he can think of, frankly.“Tell me all about it,” he says.





	if I am good to you, won't you be good to me (that's how easy this should be)

**Author's Note:**

> I needed this and one of the nice things about being a writer is that you can make things you need happen.

“I was thinking,” Aziraphale says around halfway through the second bottle of very good wine they’re currently sharing in the back of the bookshop. He’s in an armchair; Crowley is lounging on the sofa. The shop is allegedly open, but definitely isn’t actually open. “We can do what we like now, can’t we? Now that we don’t have to answer to our people anymore?” 

“Seems likely,” Crowley says, taking a long drink. “What else would we do?” 

“There’s just something I’ve been thinking about for a few centuries,” Aziraphale says. “It’s not very _proper_ , of course, but . . .” 

Crowley grins, and leans towards him. Aziraphale having an “improper” idea sounds like the best time he can think of, frankly. 

“Tell me all about it,” he says. 

“Well, it’s just that,” Aziraphale says. He sips his wine, looking pensive. “It’d involve telling you quite a few things.” 

“Would it now?” Crowley asks, grin widening. He doesn’t know what Aziraphale’s talking about, but it already sounds promising. He loves it when Aziraphale tells him things, even when they’re things he’s not actually interested in. The other just gets so _earnest_ and _excited_. It’s a damned delight, every time. 

“Things to do, that is,” Aziraphale says, and Crowley frowns, tilting his head. Something about the way he says it is . . . odd? 

“You need me to do something?” he says. 

“No,” Aziraphale says. “Rather, I _want_ you to do something.” 

“Sure, angel,” Crowley says, because “want” or “need” aside, he can’t imagine what Aziraphale would ask that he wouldn’t be willing to do. “What is it?” 

Aziraphale’s face turns red. Crowley stares at him in bemusement. 

“You don’t have to. Obviously,” Aziraphale says with a guilty little laugh, swirling his wine in its glass. “I’ve just been thinking about it.” 

“You said, yeah,” Crowley says. “For a few centuries, specifically, so it _must_ be good.” 

“I think it would be,” Aziraphale says. 

“Well, what is it?” Crowley asks. 

“I’d like us to make love. And I’d like you to do as I say while we do,” Aziraphale says. Crowley drops his wine glass. “Oh!” 

“What did you say?” Crowley repeats in a croak. He misheard that, right? 

“I’d like us to make love,” Aziraphale repeats, miracling the shattered wine glass back together and the wine off the floor and both back into Crowley’s hand. “And I’d like you to do as I say while we do. Like—well, have you ever heard of BDSM?” 

“Oh, once or twice,” Crowley says faintly. 

“Like that, then,” Aziraphale says. Crowley puts the wine glass aside before he can drop it again. “I’d like to dominate you, as they say.” 

Putting aside the wine glass was a very good idea. 

“You do that kind of thing?” Crowley says. 

“It’s quite nice,” Aziraphale says. “I’m not sure you’d like it as much as I do, but I think you’d like it.” 

“Because you’ve thought about this,” Crowley says. “For a few centuries.” 

“Quite a few, to be honest,” Aziraphale admits. “I know temptation is more your area, of course, but I’d like to think I know you well enough by now that we’d both enjoy ourselves.” 

“Knowing someone _biblically_ is a bit different, Aziraphale,” Crowley says. His voice is coming out a little strangled. He tries to ignore it. 

“Oh, well, of course,” Aziraphale agrees with a nod, taking another sip of wine. “We’d need to talk about it first. If there were any things you didn’t like, for example. And we’d need to agree on a safe word.” 

“A safe word,” Crowley echoes. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale says. “It’s a sort of code word humans use in these situations. Helps keep things from getting out of hand, as it were.” 

“I know what a _safe word_ is,” Crowley says. He’s a demon, after all, he knows all about lust and debauchery in all its forms. But—“ _You_ want to do things you think we’d need a safe word for?” 

“Yes,” Aziraphale says. 

Crowley tries to picture it. 

He really can’t picture it. 

“You want to do things we’d need a safe word for,” he says. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale says again. “Quite a lot, to be honest.” 

“I didn’t even know you wanted to have sex at _all_ ,” Crowley says, and Aziraphale looks surprised. 

“Really?” he says. “I would’ve thought you’d sense that kind of thing. Coveting, and all that.” 

“You’re _always_ coveting things,” Crowley says. “Food and alcohol and books and—there’s a lot of coveting going on, with you!” 

“I suppose that’s fair,” Aziraphale says musingly. “I still thought you must’ve noticed by now.” 

“It would’ve come up!” Crowley says. “I wouldn’t just ignore you _coveting_ me!” 

“I just assumed you were being polite. Or restrained,” Aziraphale says. “Though in retrospect perhaps that was a silly assumption.” 

“Restrained,” Crowley says, because he is never going to be able to hear Aziraphale say a word like that again without remembering him _also_ talking about—what they’re currently talking about. Nnn. 

“We were supposed to be on opposite sides,” Aziraphale says. “Not really appropriate to be fraternizing that much.” 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says, pushing up his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “When have I ever cared about fraternizing _too much_?” 

“Hell would’ve destroyed you, if they’d found out,” Aziraphale says. 

“The holy water wasn’t for _fun_!” Crowley says in exasperation. 

“Does that mean you thought about it too?” Aziraphale says. Crowley just about falls off the sofa. He should be more sober for this conversation, maybe. 

“I—of _course_ I thought about it!” he says. “It’s been six thousand years, you thought it hadn’t occurred to me?” 

It’d occurred to him rather quickly, actually, but since apparently it’s only been a few centuries for Aziraphale he doesn’t want to admit to that one quite yet. 

“I wasn’t sure,” Aziraphale says. “I’d very much like to do it, if you’re interested.” 

“And you want to tell me what to do during,” Crowley says. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale says. “That part’s not mandatory, obviously. I just like it quite a bit.” 

“You’ve _done_ it,” Crowley says. 

“Well, I had to learn somewhere, didn’t I?” Aziraphale says with an amused little smile. “Have you?” 

“No,” Crowley says. “I mean, I’ve had _sex_ , I haven’t done—the other thing.” 

“Subbed,” Aziraphale provides helpfully, taking a sip of wine. Crowley grabs his glass again and drains the whole thing. 

“Subbed,” he echoes. “Yes. That.” 

“Do you know how it works?” Aziraphale says. 

“Yes,” Crowley says, putting a hand over his face and turning red. Again: demon. 

“Have you Dommed before?” Aziraphale asks. 

“Definitely not,” Crowley says, fairly sure he’s turned even redder. 

“Well, we’d talk about it more if we were going to do it, obviously,” Aziraphale says. “That’s the best way to do it.” 

“If,” Crowley says. 

“Do you want to?” Aziraphale tilts his head. Crowley has no idea how to answer. He tries to picture it, and still can’t. What would Aziraphale even want him to do? 

“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t—you’d be telling me what to do? That’s the main idea?” 

“The whole idea, really,” Aziraphale says. “Unless you didn’t want to do what I was telling you to, of course.” 

“Of course,” Crowley says. He _still_ can’t picture it. 

“Are there things you don’t like to do in bed?” Aziraphale asks. 

“Yes,” Crowley says. “Everyone has things they don’t like.” 

“What don’t you like?” Aziraphale says, and Crowley glances sidelong, setting aside his empty wine glass again. 

It’s _Aziraphale_. He can tell him. 

“Pain,” he says. “I don’t like pain. Or humiliation.” 

“Neither do I,” Aziraphale says, shaking his head. “I must admit I’m rather soft about these things. I like things to be, well . . . _nice_.” 

“I don’t mind nice,” Crowley says, staring a bit of a hole into the floor. It’s Aziraphale, he reminds himself. It’s fine to say things like that with Aziraphale—especially now. 

“Don’t mind?” Aziraphale says. 

“Like,” Crowley admits, and Aziraphale smiles softly at him and leans forward and lays a hand on his knee. Crowley is very aware of that hand. 

“What else do you like?” Aziraphale asks. 

“I don’t know,” Crowley says. He hasn’t had much sex he actually _did_ like, if he’s being honest. Sex he hasn’t minded, and some sex he _really_ minded, but not much he liked. It’s not very demonic, going around having _nice_ sex. 

“Is there anything else you _don’t_ like?” Aziraphale asks. Crowley shrugs. 

“Nothing I can think of,” he says. Pain and humiliation are the big ones. There’s nothing good about either of those. He doesn’t really think Aziraphale would do anything like that, but five minutes ago he didn’t think Aziraphale would be having a conversation like _this_ , so . . . “What about you?” 

“I don’t like bloodplay, or scat or watersports,” Aziraphale says. Crowley has no idea how to feel about listening to Aziraphale list kinks, even if they’re kinks he doesn’t like. “I’m not very fond of toys, though I’m not entirely against them either. I like to take things slowly and I like foodplay. I _very_ much like being listened to, as I’ve said. That’s my favorite.” 

“That’s the one you want to do,” Crowley says, tapping a foot restlessly against the floor. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale says. “But I’d rather make love to you than anything else.” 

“Do you have a safe word?” Crowley says, glancing back to Aziraphale’s face. He’s still smiling at him, but the smile turns wry at that question. 

“My usual one is ‘apple’,” he says. Crowley gives him a bemused look. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. It seemed like a good idea at the time.” 

“It’s fine,” Crowley says. “Just . . . bit of an unexpected choice, there.” 

“Forbidden fruit, and all.” Aziraphale smiles at him again. His hand is still on his knee. It feels . . . Crowley’s very aware of it. That’s all. “Does all that sound agreeable to you?” 

“. . . yes,” Crowley says slowly. “That sounds—agreeable. To me.” 

Aziraphale’s smile widens. Crowley seriously considers going to his knees. 

He supposes that’d be part of the point of this, so . . . 

“I’d like to try sometime, then,” Aziraphale says. “Whenever’s good for you.” 

“Tell me when it’s good for me,” Crowley says, fingers twitching. Aziraphale looks surprised for a moment, then very soft. Crowley wants to know what he’s going to say next so badly it _hurts_. 

“Alright,” Aziraphale says. “I will.” 

And then he gets up, and sets aside his wine glass, and Crowley tips his head back and looks up at him. He feels . . . very strange about this. He’s never felt like this about the idea of having sex with someone, no matter what kinks were involved. Aziraphale’s don’t even sound that intense. 

And yet . . . 

Aziraphale walks over to the wine bottles. Crowley watches him go. Aziraphale starts clearing the bottles, and Crowley watches that, too. His jaw is tight. His shoulders are hunched. He wants Aziraphale to say “now”. 

He wants to _hear_ Aziraphale say that. 

He wants . . . 

Aziraphale puts away the bare remnants of the wine and miracles the glasses clean and puts them away too, and Crowley watches him the whole time. He feels restless and overheated and _embarrassed_ , embarrassed for being obvious, being stupid, being—stupid. He doesn’t like it. He wants Aziraphale to come back and say something. Anything. 

Aziraphale comes back, and sits down in the armchair again. Crowley watches him much too intently, and Aziraphale smiles at him. 

“Do you want to sober up?” he asks. 

“No,” Crowley says. He’s not that drunk, anyway; just enough to feel warm, and to say things he maybe wouldn’t normally say. 

“Alright,” Aziraphale says, and holds a hand out towards him. “Come here, please.” 

Crowley’s across the space between them before Aziraphale’s even finished the “please”, practically crashing to his knees in front of him and grabbing onto Aziraphale’s slacks just for something to keep a grip on. 

“Oh!” Aziraphale says, looking pleasantly startled. Crowley’s face burns. He’s so _obvious_. Aziraphale touches his cheek. He doesn’t lean into it, because he’s a _demon_ , but he wants to. It’s just . . . it’s been a long time. 

He’s waited a long time, he means. Doing as Aziraphale says isn’t even hard. If anything, it’s going to be harder _not_ to do as he says. 

But Aziraphale wants him to do as he says, so . . . 

“Do you remember the safe word?” Aziraphale asks. 

“Apple,” Crowley says, and Aziraphale smiles again. 

“Very good,” he says. He cups Crowley’s face in his hands and tilts his head back, just a little. Crowley _burns_. 

Aziraphale leans down and kisses him, very lightly. Crowley melts into it, because he’s waited six thousand years to be kissed by Aziraphale, and it’s such a simple thing but it feels so _warm_. His eyes flutter shut somewhere in there, and stay shut as Aziraphale leans back. 

It wasn’t much of a kiss, to be honest, but Crowley can’t think of a single better one he’s had. 

“Open your eyes, please,” Aziraphale says. Crowley does. Aziraphale is looking at him. Looking back at him is easier than Crowley would’ve expected it to be. “Would it be alright if I took your glasses off?” 

“Sure,” Crowley says as casually as he can manage, though the last time someone took his glasses off it was Hastur and he’d hated it. It’s Aziraphale, so it’s fine. 

Aziraphale takes his glasses off very carefully, then folds them up and sets them aside safely, and Crowley was right: it’s fine. 

It’s Aziraphale. 

“Take your jacket off, please,” Aziraphale says, and Crowley sheds it like old skin. Aziraphale cups his chin in one hand and tilts his head up again, but doesn’t kiss him this time. “And the tie.” 

The tie goes. Crowley feels _strange_. Not like he would’ve expected to feel, if he’d ever let himself expect this. He’d always thought it would be too much; a step too far for Aziraphale to go. 

Aziraphale won’t stop looking at his face. 

“Is this alright?” Aziraphale says, and Crowley’s nodding before he even fully computes the question. It’s definitely alright, though. 

Maybe he’s a little drunker than he thought. He feels so _warm_ right now. 

“The shirt, then,” Aziraphale says, and Crowley goes for his buttons. Aziraphale keeps watching him, and he feels even warmer, even as he strips the shirt off. For a second he almost goes for his undershirt too, but Aziraphale hasn’t said to so he doesn’t. 

He’s getting hard. Aziraphale’s barely even _touched_ him and he’s getting hard. 

Crowley really doesn’t know what to think about that. 

“You’re so good to me, my dear,” Aziraphale says, stroking his jaw, pushing a hand back through his hair. Crowley leans into the contact before he can think better of doing it, and by then he’s already done it, so . . . so he’s done it. And once he’s already done it, what’s the point in stopping? “Oh, _so_ good.” 

“I’m really not,” Crowley says. This is easy; it’s nothing to do this. 

“You certainly are,” Aziraphale says. He pushes his fingers through his hair again and curls them against his scalp, and Crowley’s dick twitches in his pants. He doesn’t use the thing much, honestly, but it’s definitely interested in what’s going on right now. “Take the rest of your clothes off, please.” 

Crowley does, obviously. He shifts back and strips as quickly as he can, uncaring where he drops his clothes, and the moment he finishes kicking out of his underwear Aziraphale’s pulling him in close again. He doesn’t kiss him, still, but he holds his face in his hands and keeps looking at him. Crowley looks back, because where else would he look? 

He’s naked. Aziraphale still hasn’t so much as loosened his collar. 

“Thank you,” Aziraphale says, sliding a hand down the back of his neck. Crowley ducks his head, waiting for more . . . orders, he supposes. Although Aziraphale’s orders are very different from the kind of orders he’s used to taking. Or questioning. 

He doesn’t take anyone’s orders anymore, technically, so taking Aziraphale’s feels . . . it’s very . . . 

He doesn’t know how to put it. 

Aziraphale’s not asking him to put it any way, though, so it doesn’t really matter. 

“Oh, but you’re beautiful, my dear,” Aziraphale says. 

“Sure,” Crowley says, ducking his head lower. Aziraphale pushes a hand through his hair again. 

“I mean it,” Aziraphale says. Crowley believes that he does, but it’s still uncomfortable to hear. “Let me see your face, please?” 

Crowley lets Aziraphale tip his head up, and tries not to wince at the adoring look on the other’s face. It’s very—it’s a _lot_. He’s not sure he can handle it. 

“It’s alright, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, stroking his cheek just below the lines of his tattoo. “You remember the safe word?” 

“Apple,” Crowley repeats obediently. Aziraphale leans down and kisses his forehead. He feels warmer again, and not quite so anxious. 

“Very good,” Aziraphale says as he straightens back up, spreading his thighs and giving Crowley space to move in closer. “Unzip me.” 

Crowley feels _very_ warm at that. He shifts in closer and goes for the fly of the other’s slacks, opening them carefully. Aziraphale’s soft inside them, but Crowley can think of more than a few ways to fix that. 

He glances up. Aziraphale smiles down at him. 

“How do you feel?” he asks. 

“Warm,” Crowley says. He doesn’t have a better word for it. 

“What do you want?” Aziraphale says, his eyes flicking across his face searchingly. 

“Tell me what to do,” Crowley says. He can think of a thousand ways to fuck this up, but if Aziraphale tells him what to do, all he has to do is that. That’s easy. 

“You know I’m happy to,” Aziraphale says, smiling softly. “Suck me off, please.” 

“Okay,” Crowley says. He shudders, for some reason. He can’t quite pin down why. He takes Aziraphale’s cock out of his pants and leans in to lick it, and feels it hardening in his hand and under his tongue. It’s been a while since he’s done this, and he doesn’t think he’s ever done it the way he wants to for Aziraphale. 

He wraps his mouth around the head of the other’s cock and pushes his tongue up against it, and Aziraphale lets out a sigh, cupping the back of his head. 

“Just like that,” he says. Crowley swallows him down, working his hand around the base of his cock, and Aziraphale hums in pleasure and keeps his hand on his head. Crowley feels pressure from it, and follows the unspoken orders to move into the rhythm Aziraphale wants. It’s slow and soft and easy to move with, and nothing about it’s rough or harsh or anything he doesn’t want. 

He likes it, which he didn’t expect to. But it’s Aziraphale, of course, so he really should have. 

He works his mouth around Aziraphale’s length, moving his head in the rhythm the other’s encouraging, and swallows him as deep as he can. He’s snake enough not to have to worry about a gag reflex, and when Aziraphale lets out a startled hiss of pleasure as his cock slides into his throat, he can’t help the smug feeling of pride in his chest. 

Well, he’s a demon. He ought to feel pride. 

“Oh, _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale groans. “You’re so _good_ at this.” 

Crowley presses his tongue up tighter and sucks harder, pushing his hands up Aziraphale’s thighs. Aziraphale groans louder. It occurs to Crowley that they may not have locked the front door of the shop, but at the moment he really could not give less of a damn. He keeps working his mouth greedily around Aziraphale, and Aziraphale doesn’t take his hand off his head. The weight of it feels good, and even the slight soreness in his jaw feels good. It’s so unlike every other time he’s done this it’s almost a different experience entirely. 

“Oh, oh, _oh_ ,” Aziraphale says, leaning back heavily in the chair and tipping his head back against it. Crowley feels that swell of pride again. “Your mouth feels wonderful, you’re such a treasure.” 

Crowley’s hard. Between Aziraphale’s voice in his ears and cock in his mouth, the hand on the back of his head, just what Aziraphale keeps _saying_ — 

He digs his fingers into the other’s thighs. Aziraphale moans, pushing up just a little bit off the seat cushion and hooking a leg over his shoulder. Crowley should really stop to breathe properly, but he’s not going to. He feels heady and heavy and so _good_ like this, and _Aziraphale_ feels good like this; why would he ever stop? 

“Crowley, I’m going to—ah,” Aziraphale says, hissing out a breath as his leg tightens against Crowley’s back and his thighs tense under his hands. “I’m going to—” 

Crowley swallows him down as far as he can and swallows _around_ him, and Aziraphale comes right down his throat. Crowley can’t help moaning. He pulls back, and Aziraphale’s cock twitches in his mouth and pulses a last few spurts of come against his tongue. He almost comes himself, and isn’t sure he wouldn’t have if Aziraphale had given him permission. 

_“Oh,”_ Aziraphale sighs, slumping in his seat. Crowley licks his lips, trying to remember how to breathe normally again. It doesn’t really work. “Oh, my dear, that was _perfect_. You did so well.” 

“You taste good,” Crowley says, his voice rougher than he expects it to be. Aziraphale smiles languidly at him, rubbing the back of his neck in a way that makes him shudder. 

“Thank you,” he says. “You made me feel very good.” 

“I wanted to,” Crowley says, laying his head against the inside of Aziraphale’s thigh and letting his eyes close. He’s still breathing a little heavily, but so is Aziraphale. 

“Well, want accomplished,” Aziraphale says in amusement. He pets Crowley’s hair. Crowley cranes his neck into the contact, and his dick aches with neglect. He could touch it, he realizes belatedly, but then again, Aziraphale hasn’t told him to. “Did you like that?” 

“Yes,” Crowley says. 

“Do you want to keep going?” 

_“Yes.”_

“I’m so glad to hear that,” Aziraphale murmurs, brushing his hand over his hair again and moving his thigh aside. “Stand up, please.” 

Crowley’s on his feet so fast his head swims. Aziraphale fixes the front of his pants, tucking his spent cock away again and smoothing the wrinkles where Crowley was clutching at them. He immediately looks like he hasn’t been touched. He looks at Crowley’s dick and makes a pleased sound. Crowley feels like they just survived saving the world all over again. 

“My, Crowley, what a lovely erection you have,” Aziraphale says. “You should touch it.” 

He touches it. Obviously. He wraps a hand around it and squeezes, and has to bite back a groan of relief. 

“More than _that_ , my dear,” Aziraphale says. “Be nicer to yourself.” 

Crowley strokes his cock. Aziraphale watches him do it. He’s immediately this close to coming all over himself, but Aziraphale is still watching and that means Aziraphale wants to _see_ and that means—that means—

He really doesn’t know what that means. 

“Aziraphale,” he manages hoarsely. Aziraphale flicks his eyes up to his face and smiles at him again. Crowley barely keeps from coming. 

“Yes, my dear?” Aziraphale asks. 

“I don’t—I can’t—” Crowley cuts himself off with a gasp, and Aziraphale’s smile widens. 

“Are you going to come already?” he says. “Let me see.” 

That’s all it takes. Crowley comes just like that, like some kind of beginner, like he’s never done this in his _life_. He chokes on a moan, knees nearly buckling, and barely manages to keep himself on his feet. Another warm, heady rush goes through him, and he can barely think. 

“Give me your hand,” Aziraphale says, holding out a hand. Crowley starts to reach for him with his clean hand, but—“No, the other one,” Aziraphale says. Crowley . . . blinks. He switches hands clumsily, confused, and Aziraphale takes it in his own and pulls it to his mouth. Crowley’s eyes widen. 

Aziraphale licks his hand clean like he’s savoring a treat, and then kisses the back of it like a gentleman. Crowley’s knees buckle for real this time, and he ends up back on them. Aziraphale smiles at him, _again_ , and leans in to kiss him. It’s still light and soft, still barely a kiss, and still wholly incomparable. 

“Still alright?” he asks, and Crowley nods stupidly, tightening his grip on Aziraphale’s hand. 

“You keep asking that,” he says. 

“I want to be sure,” Aziraphale says. 

“Are _you_ alright?” Crowley asks after a moment, frowning at the thought. 

“I’m wonderful,” Aziraphale says warmly. “Would you like to take this upstairs?” 

“Yes,” Crowley says. Aziraphale stands up and tugs lightly at his hand, and Crowley follows him to the stairs. Aziraphale leads him up them, and Crowley keeps following. What else would he do? He still feels warm and heavy, and his lips are still tingling where Aziraphale kissed him. 

He wants to kiss him some more. He hopes Aziraphale will let him. 

He hopes a lot of things right now, and they’re all about Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale takes him to a little bedroom up over the bookshop that Crowley had not previously known existed, and isn’t sure _had_ previously existed. It’s crowded and cozy and warm, and Aziraphale sits him down on the bed and steps back from him. 

“I liked watching you touch yourself very much,” he says. “But I want to do something a bit more, this time.” 

“I want to do more too,” Crowley agrees, though he has no idea what Aziraphale has in mind. They’ve already been over what they don’t want to do, though, so it’ll be fine. 

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Aziraphale says, and finally, _finally_ unties his bow tie. “I’d like to make love.” 

“Yeah?” Crowley says, heat rising in his gut. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale says. “If it’s not too much.” 

“It’s not too much,” Crowley says. He doesn’t really like doing it, usually, but again: it’s _Aziraphale_. He thinks he’d like anything, if it was Aziraphale doing it with him. 

He _wants_ to do it, if it’s Aziraphale doing it with him. 

Aziraphale takes his bow tie off and unbuttons his vest and Crowley watches hungrily, transfixed by the sight. He’s never seen Aziraphale undress like this before, only miracle himself into different clothes. It’s been a _very_ long time since he saw any more of Aziraphale’s skin than just his face and hands. 

This was a very good idea, he thinks. Really—very good. He’s going to have to remember to tell Aziraphale that later. 

Aziraphale sets his clothes aside neatly as he undresses, piece by piece, and by the time he’s down to his undershirt Crowley’s practically starting to salivate. By the time he’s actually naked, Crowley’s ready to _jump_ him. 

“Aziraphale,” he says, reaching out unthinkingly, and Aziraphale comes to him before he can think to be self-conscious about it. Aziraphale pushes into his arms and wraps his own around him and kisses him, and Crowley feels all lit up and bright and can’t tell if he can barely keep his wings in or barely keep the scales off or barely—or barely—

He can barely _think_ , he thinks. 

Aziraphale keeps kissing him. Crowley kisses him back. This time it’s deeper; more intense than before. It feels so much better than kissing anyone else has ever felt, and he barely knows how to reconcile it as the same thing. He clutches at Aziraphale’s back, and Aziraphale holds him tight. They’re pressed together, skin to skin, and Crowley doesn’t know where he wants to touch next. There’s so many options it’s overwhelming. 

“Hands on the bed,” Aziraphale says, which helps. Crowley puts his hands down flat against the mattress, and Aziraphale sits in his lap and kisses him again. He shudders. “Very good. Keep them there, please.” 

“Okay,” Crowley manages, fisting his hands in the comforter. It’s very soft. Aziraphale runs his own hands up his sides, touching his hips and ribs and chest. Crowley somehow manages to feel more naked than him, despite the fact they’re both just as undressed as the other. Aziraphale pushes his mouth into the corner of his jaw and flicks his thumb across one of his nipples, and Crowley hisses. 

“Safe word?” Aziraphale asks. 

“Apple,” Crowley says. He wonders how many times Aziraphale is going to ask him that. 

“Very good,” Aziraphale says, and kisses him again. He bites his lower lip and tugs gently at his nipples, and Crowley tightens his grip on the comforter. He wants to ask Aziraphale what’s going to happen next, but he can’t quite catch his breath or make the sentence come together, and especially he can’t bring himself to break off the kiss. 

Anyway, it’s obvious what’s going to happen next. Aziraphale is going to tell him to lay back and roll over and then he’s going to fuck him, or maybe just tell him to lay back and ride him. Crowley won’t mind that. It won’t be as good as Aziraphale watching him was, but he knows Aziraphale will still make it good. He’ll like it, as long as it’s Aziraphale doing it. 

Aziraphale ends the kiss with a soft little sigh and Crowley can’t unfist his hands from the comforter. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, touching the backs of his hands. “You’re being so good for me, my dear.” 

“I want to,” Crowley says. It sounds too honest, maybe, but Aziraphale doesn’t seem to mind. 

“You are,” he assures him. “I’m very proud of you.” 

It really is _so_ hard to keep the scales off. 

“Nnn,” Crowley says. Aziraphale kisses him again, then moves to sit on the bed beside him. 

“Come here,” he says, laying back and scooting up on the bed. Crowley blinks in confusion, but follows obediently. Aziraphale spreads his thighs and tugs him up between them. Crowley . . . blinks. “You don’t mind if I’m a little boring, do you?” 

“You’re not boring,” Crowley says automatically. Aziraphale smiles at him and wraps his arms around his neck. 

“Make love to me,” he orders. “Please.” 

Crowley stares down at him with wide eyes, momentarily uncomprehending. 

“You mean—like this?” he asks awkwardly. 

“Yes, please,” Aziraphale says. “I want to see your face when you come inside me.” 

Crowley _shudders_ , fingers digging into the comforter again. 

“Is that alright?” Aziraphale asks, and Crowley nods roughly. 

“That’s—that’s alright, yeah,” he says. “I need, uh—do you have any—” 

“Of course,” Aziraphale says, snapping his fingers. A tube of lube appears on the comforter next to Crowley’s hand. “Or did you mean condoms?” 

“This is fine,” Crowley says. It’s not as if they can actually get sick; the only reason to bother with a condom is to avoid making a mess, and he doesn’t care about that. He picks up the lube and twists the lid off to slick up his fingers, and Aziraphale hums in satisfaction, pulling up one of his legs and digging his heel into the mattress. Aziraphale catches his wrist and tugs his hand down between his thighs, and Crowley stares at him for one moment longer before redirecting his attention to the task at hand. 

“Take your time,” Aziraphale says. “I’m in no rush.” 

Crowley rubs a finger across the rim of the other’s hole. Aziraphale sighs in pleasure, tilting his head back, and Crowley does the obvious thing, which is kiss his throat. He works a finger in testingly, and Aziraphale accepts him easily. He crooks his finger, and Aziraphale sighs that pleased sigh again and relaxes against the mattress. 

“Yes, just like that,” he says. “Make me feel good.” 

Crowley wants to do that very, very badly. He rocks his finger inside of Aziraphale, and Aziraphale lifts his hips into the motion. Crowley works in another finger and twists them inside him, and Aziraphale sighs that perfect, perfect sigh that Crowley doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing. 

“You’re doing very well,” he says breathily. Crowley wants to kiss him, but also wants him to keep talking. “You can go a little deeper, my dear. I know those lovely long fingers of yours can do that for me.” 

“Okay,” Crowley rasps, and does. Aziraphale tips his head back again, pushing into him. Crowley keeps rocking his fingers into him and watching him react to how it feels. Crowley’s seen _stars_ he liked watching less than he likes watching Aziraphale. 

“Yes, oh yes, _just_ like that,” Aziraphale sighs. “Give me another, won’t you?” 

Crowley works another finger into him; rocks them all in. Aziraphale practically _glows_ with pleasure. 

“You’re so good at this,” he murmurs admiringly. “I should just keep you in bed for the next decade. We have so much time to make up for.” 

“You’d get bored without your books,” Crowley says. 

“I could never be bored with you around,” Aziraphale says. “Besides, it’ll take at least that long to do all the things I want to do with you.” 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says, helplessly. Aziraphale smiles up at him. 

“Safe word?” he says. 

“Apple,” Crowley says. 

“Put your cock in me,” Aziraphale orders, and Crowley shudders all the way up his spine. He reclaims his fingers and slicks up his erection and presses it forward, and Aziraphale takes him so _easily_. “Ohhhh. Yes, yes, that feels _perfect_. You’re doing so well.” 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley says again, even more helpless than the last time. His hips stutter. Aziraphale wraps his legs around them and his arms around his neck. 

“Make me come,” he says. “Please.” 

Crowley rocks his hips forward. Aziraphale hisses, then sighs again. He tightens his grip on Crowley. Crowley rocks into the tight, slick heat of him, bracing a hand against the headboard. Aziraphale keeps making these happy little noises, like he’s eating something particularly delicious. He’s not doing any of the work at all, which just makes Crowley itch with the need to do even more himself. He thrusts deeper, and Aziraphale makes another one of his something-delicious noises, this one breathy and low. 

“That’s so _nice_ ,” he says. Crowley fucks him harder, until the bed starts to shake. 

“I’m—not— _nice_ ,” he pants, and Aziraphale lays a hand on his face. 

“Oh, my dear,” he says gently. “You’re the nicest thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

Crowley chokes, his hips stuttering again as he struggles to keep a steady rhythm. Aziraphale continues to do none of the work, just languidly laying there and accepting his efforts. Crowley has no idea why that’s so _hot_ right now. He has no idea about a lot of things right now. 

“There you are,” Aziraphale says. “Keep it up. You’re doing _wonderfully_.” 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley manages, his voice strangled. “You’re going to make me— _ah_ —you’re going to make me _come_.” 

“Not yet,” Aziraphale says, and squeezes his body around him. Crowley feels like he just got punched in the gut. “I want more from you.” 

“Azzzzzziraphale!” Crowley buries his face in the other’s shoulder, body shaking and scales trying to come out again. Aziraphale tangles his hands up in his hair and shifts his hips just enough to let him in deeper. 

“I know you can do it,” he says. “You’re doing so well. Don’t stop.” 

“I can’t, I _can’t_ ,” Crowley moans, hand nearly slipping off the headboard. 

“Of course you can,” Aziraphale says tenderly. “You’ve never let me down yet.” 

Crowley is going to _discorporate_. 

He doesn’t come, _somehow_. He keeps fucking Aziraphale, the bed shaking almost as much as he is. Aziraphale keeps making those sweet little noises and murmuring praise into his ear. He fumbles an attempt to grab the other’s cock, but manages on the second try, and strokes him tightly. Aziraphale _sighs_. 

“You’re even better than I thought you were going to be,” he says. Despite himself, Crowley whimpers. “Oh, _so_ much better. Harder, my dear. Harder.” 

Crowley listens. Crowley _aches_. Aziraphale strokes his face and hair and kisses his temple. 

“Just right,” he sighs, eyes drifting closed. “Oh, _Crowley_.” 

He comes between them, come spilling all over Crowley’s hand and his own stomach. Crowley jerks his hips to a stop on a pained moan, another shudder going through him, and Aziraphale puts his hands on his shoulders and pushes him back just enough so they can see each other’s faces unrestricted. He’s flushed and panting and the most beautiful thing Crowley’s ever seen. 

“It’s alright,” he says kindly, meeting his eyes and tightening around him. “You can come.” 

Crowley doesn’t even have to thrust again. His orgasm tears through him, fast and fierce and _burning_ , and he nearly collapses on top of Aziraphale. Mostly _does_ collapse on top of Aziraphale, who hums breathless and soothing in his ear and pushes his hands up his back. Crowley tries to push himself up. It doesn’t really work. 

“There you are,” Aziraphale says. “Shhh, now, you’re alright.” 

_“Aziraphale,”_ Crowley sobs. Aziraphale rolls them onto their sides and pulls him in, and Crowley clings to him, hiding his face in his shoulder. He feels too weak to hold on very hard, but he tries. 

“My dearest,” Aziraphale murmurs, stroking his hair. Crowley hiccups. “You did marvelously for me. Such a wonderful job. The best I could’ve asked for.” 

Crowley feels dizzy and overwhelmed and can’t respond. Aziraphale doesn’t seem to mind, just keeps stroking his hair and murmuring soft praises he can barely understand, one after another. Crowley gulps in big breaths, still shaking, but can’t help feeling calmer under the treatment. Aziraphale kisses his forehead and miracles up a towel to clean them both off, then folds the comforter over to cover them. Warmth and heaviness spread through Crowley, and his eyes go half-lidded. He feels very . . . exposed, somehow. Like Aziraphale just peeled back some part of him to show off something soft and vulnerable he hadn’t even known was there. 

It’s fine, though. Aziraphale’s right here, and no one else can see it. 

He thinks he sleeps, a little. Eventually he wakes up, though, and he doesn’t feel so soft and strange anymore even still in Aziraphale’s arms, and instead embarrassment is starting to creep in at the edges. It was so _good_ , but the way he was acting, and all those things Aziraphale said . . . 

“Did you like it?” Aziraphale asks. Crowley digs his fingers into the blankets. 

“Yes,” he says. He can’t lie about it. 

“I’m so glad,” Aziraphale says, brushing his hair back off his forehead. Crowley leans into it, stupidly. Aziraphale just pets him again. 

“Did _you_ like it?” Crowley asks. 

“So much,” Aziraphale says, kissing his cheek. “I don’t think I’ve ever liked it so much.” 

“Me either,” Crowley says, because he knows for _sure_ he’s never liked it so much. He hadn’t thought he _could_ like it so much. 

“We should do again sometime,” Aziraphale says. “Or all the time. I really might keep you in bed for the next decade if you let me.” 

“Tell that to the bookshop. And my plants,” Crowley says. Somehow he doesn’t think he’d mind if he did, though. 

“The bookshop,” Aziraphale repeats, then blinks rapidly. “Oh! I didn’t lock up!” 

“Oh, Aziraphale,” Crowley sighs, lifting a hand to snap his fingers. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“You realize you might’ve just locked someone inside,” Aziraphale says. 

“That’s a morning problem, angel,” Crowley says dismissively, wrapping his arms tighter around him and laying his head on his chest. “We can do what we like now, after all.” 

“True,” Aziraphale says, laying a hand on his back. “I did like this very much.” 

“I’ve never liked anything this much,” Crowley says, and Aziraphale smiles down at him and touches his cheek just below the tattoo. Crowley leans into the contact. 

“I did mean it,” Aziraphale says. “We should do this again.” 

“If you think we’re not doing this again, you are _vastly_ underestimating my temptation skills,” Crowley snorts, and Aziraphale laughs and drops a kiss into his hair. 

“I would never,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr!](http://suzukiblu.tumblr.com/)


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